Underground
by DerKriegermonk
Summary: The story of a man who is left behind to watch the world crumble in the aftermath of the Rapture. He leads a military force tasked with protecting men and women who want to fight back against the Anti-Christs' evil. First Fanfiction. Constructive criticism welcome.
1. Remember

_"And if they have a change of heart in the land where they are held captive,and repent and plead with you in the land of their conquerors and say,'We have sinned, we have done wrong, we have acted wickedly'"- 1 Kings 8:47_

Three years, seven months, forty-two days, seventeen hours, forty minutes, and fourteen seconds since the world all but seemed to end. He had not been a good man before things fell apart, in fact, there were many people who went out of their way to avoid him simply walking down the sidewalk when everything was _normal_, nevermind now that things had changed so much. He still remembered waking up at his parents' house from a drunken slumber, his on-again-off-again girlfriend laying in bed next to him. He remembered walking the steps up from the basement into the kitchen, briefly thinking how odd it was that it was noon and not a sound was made in the house. He remembered yelling their names, still in a hazy state from the alcohol, getting angrier by the minute, eventually storming up to their room and throwing the door open. He remembered the utter shock and horror he felt creep down into the very depths of his questionable soul when he realized what had happened. The blankets were thrown astrew, obviously slept in, his mothers nightgown laying on its side on the mattress, seemingly undisturbed. This moment in time felt like an eternity for him. His fathers' glasses lay on the bedside table, coupled with his mothers' nightgown laying on the bed as if she had laid on her side and just disappeared.

Immediately he knew what had happened, but couldn't bring himself to admit it. He knew. He _knew_. He remembered at that moment screaming her name, stumbling back into the hallway, knees buckled, sitting against the wall. He remembered the bile rise slowly in his throat, then faster and with more force until he could no longer contain it and deposited the contents of his late night out onto the floor. He screamed her name again, hearing her respond by screaming a curse, angry at him. He remembered her running up the stairs, ready to give him hell for waking her up in such a manner. He remembered her sudden change in mood when she saw the 18 year old, prodigal son, the one who fell in with a bad crowd and shaved his head, got tattoos that spouted racial hate, the son that drank and smoked and despised his parents, weeping like a child, shaking uncontrollably. He remembered the bitter smell of the bile waft into his nostrils, felt her arms wrap around him, his only source of comfort in that moment. He remembered when the realization hit her as well, her tears spilling down her cheeks. He didn't check his sisters' room until well after the initial shock, and he immediately wished he hadn't. Apparently it had happened while she was in her devotionals, as her Bible was open on the bed, her pajamas lying gently on the bed. He remembered touching nothing, telling her to touch nothing either. They went back downstairs and cried each other to sleep, wanting desperately to forgot all that had happened.

He remembered who they used to be. That was three years, seven months, forty-two days, seventeen hours, forty minutes, and fourteen seconds was a long time. Left a lot of room for change. They had both changed drastically. He was no longer the rebellious Neo-Nazi boy with a penchant for heavy drinking, loud music, sex and getting racist tattoos on his body. Now he was different. Now he was a soldier. He was part of an underground movement who disagreed with the current governments' policies and violent means of eradicating anyone who dissented. This movement encompassed many religions, many Peoples, many sets of skills. He was one of the men who led a group of individuals tasked with protecting this this movement. He led a guerilla group that called themselves the _Templars_. Yes, he had changed. Changed in many ways that he regretted not changing _before._ Remembering who he had been and who he was now was most of what kept him going. Yes, he remembered. And he would keep remembering. For it was all he had left.


	2. Battle

_"For thou hast girded me with strength unto the battle: thou hast subdued under me those that rose up against me"- Psalms 18:39_

He woke up to the sound of gunfire, jumping up from his makeshift bed in the middle of the forest, he grabbed his sword and helmet, running north towards the noise. Seconds passed until the rest of his men had awoken from their slumber and rushed after him. As he got closer, after running 30 or 40 yards or so, he heard the familiar hiss of bullets tearing through the air, 10 yards later, he felt more than heard the snap of bullets. He turned his back to a tree, breathing heavily; his men spread out to cover accordingly. He took this time to slip his helmet, styled after his mens' namesake, his armor resting comfortably against his body, styled the same way. He took a moment to accustom himself to the heavy armor after sleeping in it. He took a moment to turn his head, spotting three of his men 150 feet west, ducked under a downed tree for cover.

"Herunterkommen!" he yelled. His men dug down deep, he turned his head back to the opposite side, scanning around the trees, eyes training to the muzzleflash, his best guess put the muzzle at 80 feet east. He could circle around, keep them occupied, take three men. He counted four muzzle flashes originating from behind a thick log, high caliber rifles from the sound. He signalled four men to follow him on his command.

"Deckt uns zu!" he barked, his men training their weapons at the muzzle on the position, he whistled, four of his Knights coming forward, keeping low. He crept low, unsheathing his sword, grabbing his shield from his back, proceeding to flank the enemy. He slowly crawled through the underbrush, doing the best he could to make as little noise as possible despite the clatter of the firearms. They crawled through the foilage, the dirt, the twigs. They stopped 15 feet rear of the position. The four men with him revealed their shortswords, preparing themselves for spring up for the moment of reloading. The ranks of the order had been kept the same, with requirements a bit different. Generally, his Knights swore an oath to never use a firearm during battle, his Sergeants down to Chaplain brothers were allowed the use of firearms. He moved to a crouch, waiting for the pause in the fire. He breathed quietly, steeling himself. _Vater unser im Himmel_...he moved forward slowly,motioning his men to move..._geheiligt werde dein Name;_...he positioned himself against a tree,steadying his breathing..._dein Reiche komme; dein Wille geschehe,_...he twirled his sword up, glancing back at his Knights,... _wie im Himmel so auf Erden..._he gave a slight nod..._Unser tägliches Brot gib uns heute..._he turned his head toward the enemy soldiers,anticipating the moment of reload..._Und vergib uns unsere Schuld..._the gunfire stopped and he turned to face them, running the remaining distance towards them, his men following close..._wie auch wir vergeben unsern Schuldigern..._the closest soldier to him pulled a handgun; firing wildly, he felt the bullets whiz pass, hearing a cry from behind him, he swiped his sword down, seperating the man's hand from the wrist down..._und führe uns nicht in Versuchung..._he sent the sword toward the man's chest with a sharp thrust down, throwing his shield arm up, the low end sharply glancing across the others' jaw..._sondern erlöse uns von dem Bösen..._his Knights' took care of the man who took the shield blow, as well as the other men stationed on the gun with little incident;..._Denn dein ist das Reich und die Kraft..._he walked over to the wounded Knight, still on his feet, having taken the bullet in the arm..._und die Herrlichkeit in Ewigkeit_...he sheathed his weapon, helping the man over to the rest of his soldiers...he sat his man down onto a log, supervising the dressing of the wound. He looked toward the south.

"Ausiehen!" He led the march, thinking over the events that had happened. He looked up wearily, anxious to be where he called home. He clasped the pendant of St. Christopher he wore around his neck, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the weariness and stress of the day fall off his shoulders. _Amen._

_Translation:_

Herunterkommen- Get Down

Deckt uns zu- Cover us

Ausiehen- Move out

Lord's Prayer in German:

Vater unser im Himmel,

geheiligt werde dein Name;

dein Reich komme;

dein Wille geschehe,

wie im Himmel so auf Erden.

Unser tägliches Brot gib uns heute.

Und vergib uns unsere Schuld,

wie auch wir vergeben unsern Schuldigern;

und führe uns nicht in Versuchung,

sondern erlöse uns von dem Bösen.

Denn dein ist das Reich und die Kraft

und die Herrlichkeit in Ewigkeit.

Amen.

**Short Author's Note:**

**Hey, thanks for any reviews I have gotten. I would have written Latin, but I don't know how to tell Church Latin from Classical Latin, although I am fluent in German. And as I'm writing the main character to have a...sordid past with a certain unsavory group of people, I thought it a nice touch to have him speak German. He will be referred to by his name from now on, although his name was mentioned in this chapter. I decided to be extremely vague and refer to the character as an impersonal "he", but as the story gets more personal in these next chapters the characters will get more depth and be referred to personally. Constructive criticism is very much welcome, also point out any errors in spelling. Thanks.**


	3. Reprieve

_"But Ruth replied,"Don't urge me to leave you or turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God." -Ruth 1:16_

The smell of half-cooked bacon wafted into his nostrils as he woke slowly from a deep, dreamless slumber. He slowly shook himself awake, sliding out of the empty bed. He made the bed before walking out into the small kitchenette, seeing his wife of one year standing by the stove, shaking her hips to music that only she could hear, he smiled boyishly, shaking his head before wrapping his arms around her front. She sighed, giggling softly.

"Morning, Chris." she said, poking the bacon around in the skillet. Chris' fingers splayed across her stomach, his lips gently brushing her shoulder.

"Morning, Alexis." he replied, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, savoring the smell. It'd been months since he had been able to smell food this good. The last few months the group had been on the run, as the higher ups, the men and women leading the rebellion had directed them to split into groups with one faction of military protection. His men were assigned to a group of people who came predominantly from the southern east coast, with spatterings of people from Pennsylvania, New York, Massachusetts, and so on. It had been close to 3 months since he and his men had last had contact with their friends and neighbors from the other groups and military arms.

He missed Jamal, one of his best friends since the event. Jamal, a devout Muslim, was a high-ranking lieutenant in the Muslim military division, known collectively as the Mujahideens, or shortened to the Mujahs. They were a fierce force, and used any weapon they could get their hands on. As well as the Templars, higher ranking Mujahs used only hand-held weapons, their weapon of choice being the scimitar. It was a common theme among the military units, they all having come to their own conclusion that the ones having proven themselves in battle to have earned the respect of their compatriots and rank of esteem, swore off firearms, as a sign of courage and honor, as well as a symbolic gesture.

Chris still remembered the first skirmish he'd fought without a gun, he had a spear and a shortsword, no shield. The surprise of the enemy soldier he had put down when he led the raid, standing out from the other men, who dressed in everyday wear combined with riot shields or bulletproof vests-some had neither-paled in comparision to the man running full sprint at them with a sword, in mostly crudely fashioned "armor", the only thing that was even real was a helmet he had stolen from a museum. The soldier's eyes really widened and Chris could have almost smelled the fear when the man's eyes saw the "tunic"-made out of a bedsheet-embroidered with a bright crimson, 8-pointed Maltese cross. Alexis had been furious when she'd learned he'd taken the vow to never use a firearm and had taken to wearing makeshift Templar uniform.

Alexis, his wife, 22 years of age. She'd been with him since the start. After the shock and eveything had happened, they'd stayed put for about a year, doing what they government started banning meetings in churches, taking away the right to criticize public officials, banning the sale of jewelry with religious symbols, they banned religious garb in all it's forms and reconstituted churches, mosques, temples, synagogues. That's when he and Alexis, along with his remaining family members had traveled to the air force base and actively took part in an open rebellion. The rebellion was acknowledged publicly of course, and it's start had been disastrous, so many people killed in isolated battles. The rebellion leaders' plans were to let the world think they had died out. But remnants banded together and held strong, being coordinated to a single point. A single goal. Israel.

Along with being the holy site of three of the major religions that made up the rebels, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, it was a haven for many faiths and all people that wanted safety. The government had tried it's hardest to eradicate the laws promoting freedom of religion but thus far had been unsuccessful.

"Chris?"

"Hm?" he blinked, returning his attention back to Alexis. "Sorry, just thinking."

"Oh, well the bacon is done." She stepped out of his hold and set the food on the plates. "I found a whole set of silverware and plates. I guess the people who left were either arrested or just up and left. Seems everyone in the building did. The others in their apartments are having mostly the same luck."

He nodded, sitting down to eat, immediately folding his hands and shutting his eyes. _Danke, Vater._

He ate quietly, eyes focused on the still beautiful woman sitting across from him. Alexis blushed, averting her eyes, a small smile playing at her lips. Chris shoved his plate away, standing up. Lexi jumped up into his arms, lips planted firmly on his. Chris carried her to the bedroom, kicking the door closed, intent on spending as much time alone as he could with her.

Hours later he woke again, breathing evenly, looking down, Alexis' hair sprawled across his chest, her leg crossed over his hips and her arm. Christopher heard a knock at the door, slowly slipping out of bed, being careful not to wake Alexis. He put on a pair of jeans, leaving his shirt off as he planned to go to Malik later anyway. He opened the door, greeting Daniel, one of his men. They conversed for a minute before Chris locked the door, following Daniel to Malik's. He thought of his friends and family that had traveled with other groups. Yes, he missed them, but he'd see them again, he felt sure of it.


End file.
